


Re-Gifting

by Only_1_Truth



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Although the characters switch around so I'm not sure which is which, Danger Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Gift Exchange, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Q made Bond a car, Q's a closet-adrenalin-junky, Sex on a Car, Yes I can actually write those
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 14:34:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5209502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Only_1_Truth/pseuds/Only_1_Truth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This all started with Q building Bond a new Aston Martin...  Who knew that 00-agents were so skilled at expressing gratitude?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Re-Gifting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tsuyu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsuyu/gifts).



> Actually, this all started when Tsuyu posted a picture of Q giving Bond the keys to a new car, with the prompt of Bond thinking, 'What am I going to give him to top this?' ... and, of course, I misread the whole thing as, "What do I have to do to have him on top of this?" So, you can all thank Tsuyu for starting this fic, which I started yesterday and haven't stopped typing on until now XD

After handing over the keys to the new Aston Martin, there were the expected thank-yous and gratified responses, but then, when Bond went unexpectedly silent with a little smile lurking at the corner of his mouth, Q had to ask, "Something on your mind, 007?" 

There was no one else in this part of Q-branch - at least not at this moment, and that was unlikely to change, considering the hour. Q's present to Bond had had to wait until the agent returned from his last mission, so it was presently about 5 in the morning. Bond's jet-lag meant that he wasn't even properly tired. instead of being cagy, 007 slanted a troublemaker's grin Q's way. "I was just thinking: What do I have to do to have him on top of this?" 

00-agents could be terrifyingly subtle, secretive creatures - but then James had days like this, where he surprised his sometimes-lover with bluntness.  Surprise rolled through Q, quickly followed by a thrill of interest.  Quickly shuttering his expression (because it just wouldn’t do for Bond to realize that his Quartermaster was so impulsive, and maybe a bit hedonistic), Q arched one brow dryly, “Are you really implying what I think you’re implying?”

No matter how well Q hid his expression, 007 must have read it, or perhaps a little smirk was slipping out onto Q’s face.  Either way, Bond’s smile broadened, and he shifted, moving further into Q’s space.  He leaned down until his mouth was next to Q’s ear.  “Well, I suppose I could also have you _in_ the car, but I’ve always preferred open spaces.  And I rather like the idea of spreading you out, naked…”  Q sucked in a little breath as 007 began to drag a finger idly up and down his side, stroking Q’s ribs like the ivory of a piano through the layers of his cardigan and shirt.  “...on the hood of something you made for me.”  

Bond’s other hand had come up, and Q watched as scarred, callused fingertips began to play thoughtfully with the slim black tie Q had chosen to wear today.  Briefly, Q grabbed Bond’s wrist to still the motion - just to see what would happen, to see if he could.  In response, Bond stilled entirely.  With a rush, Q realized that he had the entirety of this man waiting on his whim, even if it looked like Q was the one with no control.  A complex mixture of excitement, pride, as well as surprise and even relief filled the Quartermaster, and he purposefully let go again, bracing his hands idly behind his arse instead to lean back against the driver’s side door of the Aston Martin.  When he looked up impertinently, he was met with eyes as blue as winter skies and glinting with the dangerous fun of a Cheshire smile.  Bond held his best smiles in his eyes.  

“If I didn’t know better,” Q had to backtalk, because the only thing faster than Q’s brain was his mouth, although his tone stayed mild and dry, “I’d say that you’d known about my present and practiced this speech beforehand.”

Humming to accept Q’s riposte, like a fencer acknowledging a hit, Bond started to toy with Q’s tie again, while his right hand remained deceptively gentlemanly, wrapped around Q’s ribs.  “Maybe I didn’t see this situation in particular coming, but is it so beyond reason that I’ve wanted to seduce you for some time now?”

“On the hood of a car?”

Suddenly, Bond left hand tugged, and Q’s breath caught as he was pulled further into Bond’s personal space.  Cheek-to-cheek, his tie a leash, Q once again had the low rumble of 007’s voice playing around the shell of his ear, “Maybe just out in the open, in the middle of your domain, where you’re not only the king but anyone could see me having you.”  

The pure heat in those words was a phoenix-kiss, and Q found his hands fisting in the material of Bond’s jacket - because if 007 bloody backed off now, Q was going to go nuclear and kill him.  00-agents and Bond in particular had habits of being terrible teases.  “You think you can fuck a king, do you?” Q whispered back, breathless but knowing that it always put 007 off-balance when he swore.  

While Q felt the little jolt of surprise that did indeed go through Bond’s muscular frame, the agent still managed to answer with barely a heartbeat in between, “I think that I can make the king of Q-branch _scream_.” 

Things devolved quickly from there.  The most important rule had already been established, when Q had gripped Bond’s wrist and made him freeze, and a few more times Q reminded 007 that he couldn’t just _take_.  Q had never met a 00-agent who didn’t freely admit to being greedy, and when Q and Bond had started seeing each other in a sporadic and less-than-professional manner, the first thing 007 had warned him about was that he pushed until people pushed back.  He wasn’t for the faint of heart, because without someone to tell him to stop, 007 could be a tidal wave.  Only the sternest stone could stand up to him, and he’d crash against a beach with enough power to either take someone’s breath away - or drown them.  And if nothing else, Q knew Bond’s penchant for breaking things.  It was new to see the agent so worried about breaking _him_.  

James’s awareness of his own crash-and-burn nature translated, however, into a remarkable watchfulness for little signals.  

Bond’s mouth was on Q’s, stealing all his air, greedy as a forest-fire.  Q wrapped his hands reflexively around the back of the larger man’s neck, cupping his head and feeling his fingers slink through strands of short, blond hair.  When the kiss became a little too rough, however, or a little too much, all Q had to do was shift his hands - a thumb previously stroking behind Bond’s ear slid forward, pressed against the column of his throat, an animalistic warning that everyone’s hindbrain knew.  Bond would stop, powerful body caught in limbo, mind easily switching pace from hungry to watchful as Q regained his equilibrium or caught up with the rapid pace with which 007 always threw himself into things.  A sharp squeeze to a wrist would do the same, or a noise filled with just a tad too much tension.  Bond saw himself as a fire with a habit of burning, but Q had honestly never heard of such a well-trained fire - although he definitely felt as though he were playing with fire as 007’s hands began untucking his shirt, his mouth keeping Q busy while his hands found pale skin.  Q already beginning to feel arousal pushing aside logical judgment.  Soon, he doubted he’d see very much reason to belay 007 at all.  

Maybe he liked getting burned.  

Q asserted control as he felt skilled hands going for his buttons, some part of his mind alert enough to warn him that they were not only in public, but at _work_.  As always, Q was able to turn 007 off like a switch - a power that he wondered if anyone else in the world had now, with the old M gone - but being able to stop Bond from disrobing him didn’t do much for the less physical skills at Bond’s beck and call.  “I like you like this,” 007 murmured, voice as lust-roughened as the stroke of warm velvet on bare skin.  Q groaned as he realized that Bond was an adaptable shit, and he knew more than one way to get people around to his way of thinking.  “Flushed, panting - you look every inch the Quartermaster of MI6, and yet not at all.  You’re a paradox, Q.”  Pushing Q back harder against the side of the car, 007 affixed his mouth to the side of Q’s neck, licking at his pulse only to speak against it, his exhales chilling the skin, “You have no idea how much I want to dig my fingers into that mask you wear everyday, and bury myself in the truth you hide beneath.”

“And… And what truth is that?” Q managed to reply, even as he tilted his head back, letting his eyes roll up luxuriously in his head because he knew that 007 wasn’t watching.  The man was currently biting neat little marks into the side of Q’s throat, light enough not to bruise but enough to create a pathway of sensitive skin up Q’s neck.  

“You.”  Bond grew suddenly tender, kissing instead of biting.  His lips were soft against the hollow behind Q’s ear.  “No professionalism, no aloofness.  You’re as bright as the sun, Q, but in Q-branch, you’re all light but no heat.”

“Heat burns.”

“So you tell me.”

“You’re calling the kettle black, 007,” Q warned with amusement, even as he took the opportunity to slip his hand beneath Bond’s jacket.  He loved the feel and shape of flexing muscles that he could feel beneath Bond’s button-down shirt.  

Bond was close enough that their hips and thighs were flush, and a slow roll of his body had Q’s interest in this whole business ratcheting up a notch, even as the agent drew back enough for Q to see lust-blown pupils within the barest sliver of sapphire-blue.  “I’m not calling the kettle black, Q, I’m calling a rose a rose and admitting that I love the thorns as much as the flower,” 007 said with utter seriousness, and with the kind of rapacious hunger that had Q forgetting why he didn’t want his clothes off.  

Few people would call Bond the romantic sort, and it was true that such moments were rare - therefore, it was no surprise when 007 let the subject drop in favor of attacking Q’s buttons.  The slight, added tension Q could sense in his lover’s body suggested that he was waiting and ready for Q to stop him, but this time the Quartermaster didn’t.  Sometimes, merely the knowledge that he _could_ stop Bond - an international assassin-spy with a kill-list longer that some of Q’s most complicated lines of code - was enough for Q.  Actually, the thought alone was as heady as a drug, and Q merely relaxed into the feel of hands getting the best of his cardigan.  He pulled 007 in for another kiss, because if he was going to let 007 push the envelope like this, then Bond bloody owed him kisses for it.  007 gave in eagerly, opening up his mouth with obliging quickness when Q showed an interest in licking into it, mapping the contours of Bond’s teeth and playing the greedy one for once.  The Quartermaster couldn’t even bring himself to be surprised when his cardigan was eased off over his shoulders - although he did startle when he found 007 stopping it midway, tangling Q’s arms and pinning them behind his back.  

Panting and honestly needing the Aston Martin for support at the moment, Q resurfaced from the kiss to blink surprised eyes at the positively wicked grin he was already being favored with.  “Problem, Quartermaster?” 007 asked, pleasant as you please, rolling his hips forward again and making Q’s nerves light up like fireworks for a moment.  “Any kind of problem I can fix?”  The alleged ‘problem’ only became worse when 007 freed up a hand to drag a thumb over Q’s nipple, the sensation rough through Q’s remaining layer of clothing.  007’s remaining hand was still fisted in Q’s cardigan, and Q could practically hear Bond’s predatory nature humming at the thought of keeping Q trapped like this.  

There was no point in pretending that Q wasn’t a bit turned on by it, too.  Psych had identified their new Quartermaster as a bit of an adrenalin-junky early on, although not the kind that was actually willing to risk life and limb, which was why he’d gotten the job.  Being part of MI6 offered Q a taste of danger without actually having his life threatened, but recently, being with James like this heightened that taste to another level - instead of merely handling dangerous missions and basically making deadly men more deadly, he had one of those lethal men wanting to take him apart right now, all with the underlying promise that he’d put him back together again.  There was also the unspoken promise that James would freeze entirely, as if a switch had been thrown, if Q gave any of a number of signals for a full-stop.  

Q also knew that James liked a bit of playful roughness, and anything short of a complete halt signal from Q was just foreplay to a man with Bond’s morals.  All 00-agents were a bit broken, but then generally knew it and admitted it, and if people like Q could dance around the fractured glass…  Well, it could generally be said that Bond and Q got on like a house on fire.  So with a little smirk being his only warning, Q twisted with agility that tended to surprise people, flexibly wriggling his arms loose of his cardigan entirely so that his hands were free to latch onto James’s lapels.  The 00-agent looked surprised and then growled into the kiss Q attacked him with, a noise that was half danger half lust, and made Q’s cock twitch in his pants.  

At this point, Q truly had every intention of backing James up into some quiet alcove where they could get each other off - or, if 007 had come prepared, which he might have, maybe even sneak a quick shag where the cameras couldn’t see.  But 007 was clearly entirely serious about having Q on the hood of his own car (Q’s car? Bond’s car?   _Their_ car?), and the result was the two men pushing and turning in a heated, unscripted dance that Q ultimately lost.  He hadn’t put up much of a fight anyway, because as much as the thought of having sex right in the middle of Q-branch made his stomach flip in mortification, it also made his pulse jump, and the allure was stronger than the fear by just enough.  By the time Q felt himself crowded against the front of the Aston Martin, he felt like he’d taken a shot of whiskey, the kick going straight to his head.  “Someone might see,” Q panted, once again taking control to make sure logic wasn’t forgotten entirely.  

When Q’s palm pressed over his windpipe, 007 went entirely still, each muscle so poised it quivered while his blue, blue eyes watched Q’s face with the intensity of laser-sights.  One of his hands was braced on the hood of the car, arm warm where it pressed against Q’s side, and Bond’s other hand had eased two fingers between the buttons of Q’s shirt.  Q could feel the back of Bond’s fingers just brushing over the sensitive skin of his stomach.  Not moving an inch, respecting the hand around his throat - looking perhaps even a bit turned on by it - 007 replied back with a gravelly tone, “It’s five in the morning, Q.  If any minion is as crazy as you, and here, they’re holed up where the computers are.  No one will check out this section of Q-branch until at least six.”

“Six isn’t that far away,” Q reminded.  He squeezed his hand slightly.  007’s eyelids flickered in something like surprise quickly shuttered away, but Q saw his eyes darken seconds later.  

“Then either we’ll have to be quick,” Bond considered, leaning forward against Q’s hand to test the tension.  When it let up, the 00-agent smirked like the cat that had gotten the cream and leaned in to nuzzle Q’s head back.  When Q obliged, 007 immediately applied his mouth to Q’s pulse-point, and although Q usually swatted him for sucking hard enough to leave a mark, this time the Quartermaster forgot that rule and groaned instead.  Bond finished his sentence against Q’s skin, amused and pleased, “Or you’ll have to be quiet enough not to attract attention.  And don’t you dare bring up the cameras, because I know you’re skilled enough to erase them in your sleep.”  Bond’s mouth had migrated to Q’s ear, and tugged at the lobe, even while his hands both traveled abruptly to Q’s arse and lifted with a quick show of that 00-agent strength.  Q gasped as he found himself lifted onto the hood of the car, his legs reflexively curling around Bond’s hips while his hands grabbed James’s shoulders for balance.  He felt powerful muscles flexing under his fingers, and wished for a fussy moment that there weren’t any clothes in the way, even after his own arguments about public nudity.  

Seeing the momentary pout, 007 chuckled, low and full, and kissed it from the Quartermaster’s face.  Sometimes, the two of them fought like tomcats, but sometimes 007 could be as sweet as honey.  Of course, right now, he had other things on his mind other than sweetness that Q could hardly argue with.  “I’ve never wanted to christen a car so much in my entire life,” the 00-agent admitted, one hand sliding along Q’s hip until he could fit a thumb against the arc of Q’s hipbone.  Q’s shirttails had come untucked, so a small rub was all it took for 007 to have the pad of his thumb circling on flushed, bare skin.  He whispered as if it were a secret, face close and eyes on Q like he was the only thing in Bond’s entire world, “Every time I think of this car, I’m going to think of you on it, everything about you as taut as piano wires because I’m playing you just right.”  

Starting to truly itch for more contact now, Q still found it in him to pull a cheeky little smirk and joke, “Is there any chance that fucking me on this car will keep you from destroying it?”

Bond’s chuckle grew, seeming to expand and fill his whole chest, and as he laughed he started working on Q’s shirt-buttons with determination.  “You minx.  If I didn’t know better, I’d say you planned this all along.”

Q’s hands had slid under Bond’s jacket again, and came back from one of the hidden pockets with a familiar bottle in his hand.  “If _I_ didn’t know better, I’d say that _you_ did,” he retorted dryly, waving the half-used bottle of lube even as inch after inch of his skin was being revealed through his shirt.  He glanced nervously to where he knew the cameras were watching them, mentally calculating how much time he’d have to erase and how statistically unlikely it was that anyone else would bother checking the footage from down here in the mechanics’ section of Q-branch.  He got distracted from his thinking when James worked his way down to the last button and smoothly transitioned to Q’s trousers, so that he was palming Q through his pants with little to no warning.  Q hissed at the building pleasure, and curled in close as his body sought more.  007 assisted him by once again wrapping Q’s tie - still looped around his neck even though his shirt was now gaping open - around one fist and hauling him closer again.  

“One of these days,” Q got out between breathy gasps as 007 continued to tease him through his pants, “I’m going to teach you that that is not a leash.”

“Then why do you keep _wearing_ them?” Bond asked with apparent fascination in regards to Q’s choice in skinny ties.  

Finally deciding to stop being a tease when this whole thing was his idea in the first place, 007 gave Q a fierce kiss and then let go, needing both hands to strip Q of his lower garments.  Despite the voice of logic practically screaming at him by this point - saying that this was insane and childish and liable to get them fired at best (getting counseling together from Psych at worst) - Q assisted, his desire to try something new and exciting overriding the cautious side of his nature.  007 grinned as if he knew, but instead of being an arse about it, he palmed Q’s cock as soon as it was free.  Even without lube entering into the equation yet, the sensation felt marvelous after the constraint of Q’s trousers - enough that Q only swore once at the coldness of the car’s hood against his bare arse.  Bond’s body-heat as he leaned in close to him made up for it, especially when 007 rescued the lube from Q’s clenched hand, popping the top with a long-awaited, understated snap.  

“You’re going to have to get a bit less dressed, too,” Q reminded, even as he felt a flush rising further and further up his face, no doubt spreading down his chest, too.  The flat contours of his stomach heaved and tensed with each breath, abdominals clenching as 007 thumbed almost thoughtfully at the head of Q’s cock.  

But 007 had that tiny little grin on his face again, the one that barely touched his conserved mouth but put crow’s-feet on the corners of his eyes and made the blue seem to ignite.  “Are you sure, Q?”  He left off his attention to Q’s cock as if feeling him approaching the edge, and instead tugged Q’s pants and trousers lower, sidling increasingly closer.  He stood still in a patient fashion as Q’s hands started to fumble across his zip, struggling to get the job done with Bond’s hands wandering over his body.  Q technically still had his shirt on, but its unbuttoned state gave 007 more or less unrestricted access to his torso, which the agent was taking full advantage of.  “Don’t you like the idea of me fully-clothed while you’re getting increasingly more debauched?”

“You’re an utter cad.

“True, but I’m an utter cad who’s going to make it worth your while,” 007 promised without restraint, and caught Q’s mouth even as the Quartermaster’s dexterity finally won out.  It was 007’s turn to moan as Q got a hand around him, although it looked like things were going to progress with an unequal state of undress, because both of them were starting to get impatient.   

Bond had been away on a mission for over a week, and Q wasn’t seeing anyone else, so Q’s body was humming with anticipation before 007 even got lube on his fingers.  Q had definitely learned to love these prep stages when performed by the blond-haired man, and 007 seemed to sincerely like taking Q apart before he even got his cock in him - but as 007 had pointed out, they were on a time-limit.  So instead of being slow and devastatingly patient, things moved along a bit more quickly this time. Q savored the burn even as he ground down onto the two fingers soon stroking inside of him.  Head curled forward so that his mess of hair was tucked against the side of Bond’s neck, Q panted and started to swear quietly because, “Fuck, yes,” while not appropriate Quartermaster-speech, was just about the most fitting thing he could think of right now as he struggled to maintain his perch despite 007’s actions.  

“You have to stay quiet, Q, remember?” Bond reminded, voice husky, low, and amused.  Of course, at the same time he added in a third finger, and Q came perilously close to shouting as 007 got the angle and the stretch _just_ right.  The thrill of evading discovery was only heightening everything, as if all of Q’s senses and every nerve were more sensitive as he strained for some sign that they’d been discovered fooling around on the hood of a new Aston Martin.  That made it ten times harder to keep any noises of pleasure in, but also ten times more important - so, since this was all Bond’s fault that he was high as a kite on endorphins and slowly going insane with the need to at least mewl a little, Q muffled himself by nuzzling past the collar of Bond’s shirt and biting into the slope of muscle between neck and shoulder.   _Bond’s_ sharp curse was arguably louder than any noise Q had made so far, and he nearly did his freezing trick again, except Q’s hands were showing that the bite hadn’t been a halt-command.  Slowly, as Q’s clever fingers petted Bond’s waiting cock, 007’s curse became a groan, became a low, rumbling hum that could almost be called a purr.  It wasn’t like their previous encounters had been devoid of roughness, and Bond could take as good as he dished out when it came to the use of teeth in sex-play.  

Even as Q backed off, simply rubbing his lips against the wound - he’d not broken skin by any means, but this was a mark James was sure to be wearing for awhile, vividly - 007 turned his head, the stubble of his jaw rustling against Q’s thick hair.  

“That’s good enough, come on,” Q babbled as 007’s idle stroking of his prostate finally became nearly too much to handle without coming.  Q had left off his own teasing to simply grab handfuls of Bond’s shirt, and in a moment of distracted inspiration, reached up and grabbed Bond’s tie to give it a domineering tug.  “If you don’t get on with it right this bloody second, I swear-!”

Bond apparently, for all of his charming facade of unshakable self-control, wasn’t much better at waiting than Q was, because he abruptly slid his fingers out of Q to instead grip his knees.  “You’re a demanding little thing, do you know that?” he grunted, even as he used pure strength to reposition Q.  There was something about strength like that that would intimidate most people, but that Q’s adrenalin-junky side found unquenchably exhilarating.  By now, 007 knew it, and rarely bothered to handle Q with ‘kiddie gloves’ anymore.  It was always a game, between Q playfully struggling or sincerely stopping him, Bond being rough enough to make Q excited but never enough to hurt him, pushing the envelope but following orders. 

Of course, the game was half the fun.  

Q would have gone into a lecture about exactly _why_ he was being so demanding when 007 was driving him insane, but then 007 lined himself up and pushed in to the hilt, not fast by steadily, and the whine rung out of Q’s throat was entirely beyond his control.  Bond’s breath caught, and for a moment that hung in time like a drop of nitroglycerin at the end of a pin, the two remained frozen, clinging to each other with eyes closed.  

“Too much?” Bond asked, voice tight.  His powerful fist flexed around Q’s upper arm while the other still curled under Q’s leg.  

The angle was completely novel, and Q was still adjusting to the feeling of James’s cock inside of him, but he groaned out against 007’s shoulder, “God, no.”  He wriggled slightly, getting comfortable, and Bond’s breath huffed out in pleasured surprise against his ear.  The car was still cold beneath him, but warming slowly, as if 007’s insane natural body-heat were leaching into everything.  “This is insane,” Q finally had to add in a puff of air, even as he admitted that he’d gone way too far over the edge to pull back now - or to even want to.  All he wanted right now was for 007 to _move_.  

“You say that like I don’t do insane things on a regular basis,” Bond chided breathlessly, and a roll of his hips answered Q’s silent pleas for more, sending sparks licking up the base of the younger man’s spine.  The excitement combined with the honestly illicit nature of what they were doing had Q’s heart racing in his chest, and gave the fire of sensation an extra edge.  Before Q’s mind could properly clear from that first wave of pleasure, he felt a hand on his chest, and made a noise of disgruntlement to find himself being pushed back and down - Bond was quick to gentle him, though, keeping Q supported even as he forced him to lie back against the hood of the Aston Martin.  “Shh, easy, love…”  The agent’s coaxing, steadying tone was rather broken by a moan that rattled through both of them, because 007 was still buried fully in Q, and even small movements like this created a delightful wave of friction.  But Bond found his voice, even as he leaned over Q, one hand still cradling Q’s knee to his hip, the other splayed and hot on Q’s bare chest, “I just wanted to see you like this, spread out and luxurious.”

“Luxurious?” Q echoed, cracking a smile at the word-choice even though his laugh became a gasp.  His pants and trousers still wrapped around his ankles seriously impeded his movements, but he made an effort to squeeze his knees against 007’s sides, wanting to move but mostly wanting the larger man as close as possible.  

Instead of being bothered by Q picking apart his endearment terms, 007 merely grinned, an expression that at first glance would have been charming, but any closer look showed the kind of hunger buried between a wolf’s smiling teeth.  Q shuddered at the implied danger even as 007 leaned over him, breath cascading over the skin revealed by Q’s unbuttoned shirt, “Yes.  Do you know how many people ever get to see the Quartermaster of MI6 being anything like _luxurious_?  Or opulent?  Or indulgent?” As he spoke, he finally began to move, shallow little thrusts that had Q’s lashes fluttering against his cheeks.  His breath lurched as 007 stroked down his chest, stopping as his thumb caught on Q’s navel, mouth peppering Q’s lean chest with tongued kisses.  “Anyone could walk in right now and see this.”  Q’s back arched as the spike of anxiousness at the reminder transmuted into excitement, and 007 pulled back further and drove back in harder, as if he knew exactly how to drive Q higher.  “But right now, I’m the only one who gets to see this - to see you.  And you know what?”  Pausing, 007 leaned closer to Q, although he prevented a coherent reply by wrapping a hand around Q’s rigid cock, squeezing until Q keened.  007 whispered like a secret against Q’s parted lips, “If you want to, you can see _yourself_ like this.  We’re on camera, remember?”

Q nearly came right there, his body tightening until he forgot how to breath, although somehow he stopped just before toppling over the edge.  He didn’t get much respite, however, because Bond was done playing, and if Q was so close to a climax, then 007 had to be just about losing his mind.  One hand working Q’s cock with diligent skill and the other braced on Q’s hip, the blond-haired man began pounding into Q with no more thought to playfulness or decorum.  Q was grateful for the shirt he still technically wore, as the force of each thrust made his whole body move, the cloth providing a nice layer between his skin and cold metal.  He could still feel the contrast, though, between the coolness of the Aston Marton beneath him and the living, breathing warmth of the agent above him.  Q had nothing to grab onto, so he simply splayed his hands against the hood, alternating between rocking his head back and soaking in the pure pleasure, and tipping his head forward to watch the scene of debauchery.  With so much of the Quartermaster’s skin showing and yet with 007 fully dressed, the scene had a sort of illogicalness to it - it looked _wrong_ , especially with Q’s workspace in the background.

But, _god_ , did it feel right.

Time always stretched strangely at moments like this, as if delight held sway over everything, capable of taking even time into its fevered hands.  In what could have been seconds or minutes or days, Q finally felt himself rising to the point of no return like a ship cresting the top of a massive wave.  Entirely forgetting where he was, Q’s head arched back, and he would have made quite a lot of noise had not a hand clamped down over his mouth.  The shock and thrill of being muzzled by a hand that he _knew_ had smothered people before sent an explosion of adrenaline through Q’s system, and he came so hard he saw white, every muscle in his body winding up tight.  For a moment, he fought against the hand over his mouth, but his hands remained flat against the hood of the car - and since they never gripped Bond’s wrist to tell him to stop, 007 continued to play, his low growl twisting predatory hunger and very human ecstasy into one sound as he easily pinned Q’s head in place while his other hand brutally worked Q through one of the hardest orgasms he could recall.  

Either the sight of Q or else the pure physical sensation of him clamping down on Bond’s cock sent the agent over the edge, too, seconds later.  Perhaps Q had a bit of a danger-kink, but 007 had a domination-kink that most people would have found rather monstrous, but which the Quartermaster of MI6 found rather lovely.  Even as he panted raggedly, body besieged by aftershocks, 007 couldn’t bare to tear his eyes away from the sight of his Quartermaster, hazel eyes closed with a fan of dark lashes against flushed cheeks, his own labored breaths caught by the hand that 007 still had over his mouth.  Sweat and cum now painted the skin of his chest and stomach between the outflung edges of his button-down, everything shifting and moving as Q regained his breath.  007 removed the hand over Q’s mouth only to stroke it down his neck, something inside of him exploding with satisfaction when Q made a pleased noise and pressed his neck against 007’s hand instead of pulling away from an implied threat.  Bond never applied any pressure - not like Q was allowed to do, when he needed 007 to take him seriously - but instead stroked with roughened fingertips and finally went back up to cup Q’s nape.  He pulled Q head up just enough for a slow, languid kiss.   

Then Bond murmured, a bit of the devil back in him, “5:45, Q.  We might want to get cleaned up - or you might, because I’ll be honest, I don’t really care if your minions accidentally see us like this.”

Q’s eyes snapped open, although it took him a second to properly glare.  Then he swatted Bond’s shoulder.  “You shameless bastard,” he said without heat, even as he started to push himself up.  They both groaned as Bond slid out of him, and looked around belatedly as if someone might have turned up magically as if to hear.  Bond looked more smug than worried, and Q didn’t doubt that the man would meet any sort of discovery with nothing more or less than a cat-with-the-canary grin.  After tucking himself back into his pants, 007 looked remarkably unruffled, if you didn’t know about the vivid bite-marks Q had left just inside the collar of his shirt.  Still, the agent had the decency to help Q slide off the hood of the Aston Martin, and retrieved his cardigan for him, as well as a shop-rag - which, while not exactly a picture of cleanliness, did serve the purpose of cleaning Q up enough to be presentable.  

Putting his clothes to rights, Q glanced back at the car, surprised by how exhilarated he felt.  He didn’t see 007 at the peripheral of his vision until the larger man was standing behind him, pressing his lips to the back of Q’s ear.  “Best present I’ve ever gotten,” he said, sounding both chuffed and endearingly sincere.  

Q smiled his secretive little smile - his Quartermaster-mask sliding back into place even if his nerves were still singing - and leaned back briefly into 007’s solid warmth.  “Your gratitude is noted.  And appreciated.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully everyone enjoyed my little foray into largely-plotless-smut!! If there are any other kinks/elements that you think I should tag for, let me know. I usually forget to tag something...


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